Just Kiss Me
by Shelbystar
Summary: This is the first of several one-shots for my female noble, Brielle Cousland and her romance with Alistair. Other characters will feature, including NPC's who I feel should have gotten a bit more attention during the game. Fergus gets Chapter 2!
1. Crying in the Dark

"Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, and a thousand more..."

~ Catullus (84-54 BC) ~

* * *

_Though Redcliffe is battered and weary in the wake of Connor's possession and subsequent invasion by the walking dead, Arl Eamon and Arlessa Isolde certainly know how to host a lively celebration, _Alistair thought nursing a mug of ale.

Now that Connor was safely restored to his former self and his parents were coming to terms with the boy's new found mage powers, the villagers of Redcliffe had gratefully put together an impromptu feast to honor the Grey Wardens and their companions for saving everyone. Here in the village square, where only days before they had fended off hordes of walking corpses, tables were laden with simple but hearty fare spiced with the Arlessa's own secret Orlesian ingredients.

Alistair couldn't remember the last time he had eaten like this and had seconds and thirds of almost everything. It wasn't often he could feed his Grey Warden metabolism so well and he indulged to the fullest. He was very glad to be wearing a comfortable nobleman's outfit he'd found in his chamber instead of his usual ensemble…his gut was just a bit too full tonight for tight-fitting armor.

Wine and ale flowed freely. Much to his delight, cheese was also in abundance on the feast tables. Somewhere nearby Alistair could hear Leliana's dulcet tones singing the harmony to an old Orlesian tune with the band of minstrels who had been playing all night.

"Alistairrrr….there you are!" Oghren roared loudly, dodging and weaving his way through the crowd. Alistair's lips twitched with amusement as he noted the two large bottles of alcohol firmly grasped in his hands. The dwarf was most certainly in his cups already and the sun had barely gone down. "There ya are. I was lookin' for ya." Oghren said taking a pull from each of the bottles in his hands. "Needed to find ya. Have you seen the lass?"

"The lass?" Alistair repeated. "You mean, Brielle?"

"Aye…" the dwarf chuckled and drank some more. "that elven cur, the assassin, asked me awhile ago about her. I thought she might be with you but uh…well, she ain't here. It's a big party though. She'll turn up."

"Yes," Alistair nodded and started gazing the crowd for their leader's pale face or rich russet hair. After a few minutes of scanning to no avail, he narrowed his golden eyes and noticed Zevran staring straight back at him from across the festivities. His heart clenched in his chest for a moment as his possible romantic rival gave a mock salute and disappeared into the shadows. _How does he do that_? Alistair wondered.

Before he could consider the answer, the blond-haired elf in question dropped down silently in front of Alistair and Oghren from the porch roof above. "Ah, good evening my friends. Enjoying the rural entertainments?" Zevran drawled.

"I was before you just dropped out of the sky like a bloody cat," Alistair snapped, a bit rattled at the man's stealthy skills.

"Did ya find her?" Oghren grunted, unfazed by the elf's sudden appearance.

"Of course I did," Zevran replied, his usually serene eyes alight with concern.

"What's wrong?" Alistair asked.

"She is at the docks. I believe she wants to be alone right now. But I do not think she should be alone…." Zevran said taking the mug of ale out of Alistair's hand. He took a deep sip and waved the mug in the direction of the docks. "Go to her, Alistair. This is not my area of expertise."

"I thought all women were in your range of expertise," Oghren chuckled and slapped the elf on the back.

"Our lovely leader is already spoken for, I believe, and beyond my expertise…for now," Zevran quipped tightly, shielding his gaze from the templar. He didn't want to see the look of triumph on the man's face. "Come, dwarf. Let us go find some wenches to fill our cups…and our laps." On that note, Zevran lead a wobbly and laughing Oghren back into the crowd leaving Alistair alone to find his fellow Grey Warden.

He found her at the end of the farthest dock, overlooking Lake Calenhad. In the light of the full moon, she stood tall and slender, a solitary silhouette against the backdrop of dark mountains and the sound of gently lapping water. Torches lined the dock path atop pedestals and he walked towards her with a growing feeling of concern. She was standing so still. He was also caught off guard for a moment to see her wearing a dress, a noblewoman's gown in fact, in a watery blue color that hugged her petite curves and flared down to her feet.

He'd never seen her wearing anything but armor yet she looked just as good, as natural, and feminine wearing fine fabrics as she did bloodied rogue's leathers. And though pleased to see her glorious dark red hair unbound and hanging free in waves down her back, Alistair frowned as he approached. She wasn't moving. As he drew closer, he could see her arms were wrapped around her torso and her head was bowed down slightly.

"Go away," she sniffed and he stopped in mid-step "Maker's Breath, I just want to be left alone for one bloody m-minute of my life!"

_Beyond Zevran's expertise indeed_, Alistair mused. The elf hadn't wanted to betray her confidence aloud and had sent him to find her like this….crying alone in the dark.

Ignoring her command, Alistair stepped forward and slipped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head. He felt her tremble and he hugged her close, inhaling the freshly-washed flowery scent of her hair. "Bree, I understand if you don't want to talk about this…but I cannot leave you out here by yourself on these creepy docks. You do realize a whole bunch of enchanted, animated corpses were crawling all over this place just a few days ago?"

Brielle laughed and sniffed softly at the same time and he felt her relax a bit. "I didn't really think about that. I just needed to get away from everything…from everyone."

"I didn't see you at dinner...have you been out here this whole time?" he asked gently.

"Yes. I didn't want anyone to see me in this silly gown," she mumbled and he almost believed it. "Lady Isolde is having my armor "properly" cleaned and polished so she loaned me this...girly dress."

Alistair brushed aside her hair and placed his lips on the exposed, creamy skin of her neck. "It suits you. Though I know you didn't miss most of dinner fretting over how you look in a dress. You are too polite and well-bred for that. What is wrong?"

"Connor… said something earlier and reminded me…of someone tonight and something inside of me just snapped. It started small, the feeling of grief and loss, and the more I thought about it, the deeper I got sucked into it. I couldn't bear to look at that child's face another m-moment at dinner."

Alistair gently gripped her shoulders and turned her to face him. She hid her gaze beneath her long, thick lashes and stared at his chest. Yet in the faint torch-light, he could see the agony and grief written in the tear tracks running down her face and his heart ached for her. She had never really talked about her life before she became a Grey Warden. In fact, he knew very little about the circumstances surrounding her being found by Duncan other than the fact the entire Cousland family had been betrayed and slaughtered by Arl Howe's men….except for her. Duncan had helped her escape from Highever and brought her to Ostagar where he had first met her.

"I've taken your generous nature for granted and I am ashamed," Alistair murmured and ran a callused thumb up her jaw line, wiping away tears. "Here you are, leading us back and forth across this surprisingly large country of ours, never complaining, always listening to me and everyone's problems, solving those problems, and helping the less fortunate people we encounter. But not once have I ever stopped and asked how you are doing. No one has."

"No," she said quickly and turned her head so that her lips grazed his palm. "I prefer it this way. It is simpler for me to focus on others."

Alistair's breath caught for moment as a frission of heat radiated from his hand where her lips had just touched. He looked down into her eyes, her entrancingly strange violet eyes, and felt his body temperature rise. _Focus, man!_ his brain screamed.

"Who…does Connor remind you of?" he suddenly blurted out, needing to break the seductive spell before he got carried away.

Brielle's lower lip quivered at his question and she averted her gaze, desperate to hide the fresh tears that were forming. "M-my nephew. Oren," she finally whispered, wringing her hands together nervously. "Before dinner, at the head table, I was chatting politely with Connor. He is such an inquisitive boy….he asked such an innocent question: "What is your favorite book, my lady?" And it was like I was transported back in time, almost a year ago, my sweet little Oren, so intelligent and funny, had asked me the same thing at his birthday feast. My heart exploded in grief out of nowhere. I thought….I was fine."

The anguish in her voice was almost too much for him to bear and he swept her up in his arms. "Tell me how about that night, love," he encouraged gently, "What happened the night your family was murdered?"

And so she did. In a flat monotone voice, she detailed the events of that devastating day and night that surrounded the destruction of her entire family. Alistair's blood chilled when she spoke of finding her sister-in-law and nephew's bodies. His eyes welled with a few unshed tears as she told of her last moments with her dying father and devoted mother. Her brother Fergus had probably walked into a trap after leaving Highever before the attack and was presumed dead as well somewhere in the Korcari Wilds. He couldn't believe she had suffered this massive tragedy and was still a sane, level-headed person. And then to have the burden of the Grey Wardens placed upon her shoulders immediately after losing her entire family…he was in awe of her willpower.

"At times I feel dead on the inside. Like I am living without feeling anything…just going through the motions like I am in a dream. Other times I am so consumed with grief and rage I can't think or see straight. I know that I have a lot to live for, but the thing spurring me forward more than anything right now is revenge. Deep, dark, twisted, nasty revenge. I will kill Arl Howe and send his traitorous bastard soul to hell," Brielle finished tonelessly.

"I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

"Yes, I am sure you have some idea. You want to avenge Duncan and Cailan's deaths just as badly as I want to avenge my family."

"Then you know I will do anything in my power to help you avenge your family's murders. Arl Howe and Loghain will pay," Alistair said, running his fingers through her long, wavy hair.

"Alistair?" she asked.

"Yes, love?"

"I don't want to talk anymore. Just... kiss me."

"As you wish," he replied without argument as his mouth found hers. Her lips tasted of tears and sorrow and he wanted nothing more than to take the pain away. He kissed her deeply and tangled his fingers in her hair. Brielle's arms wrapped around his neck and she responded to his kiss with a fierce heat, her mouth hungry and challenging his to a duel of passionate need.

Thus entangled and enraptured with one another, they failed to hear the person at the end of the docks come upon them with a few discreet "ahems." When that didn't work, the person stomped a stern foot two times that surprised both of the lovers and broke them apart suddenly.

"Are you done devouring each other?" Wynne asked with a twinkle of mischief in her wizened eyes.

"Wynne!" Alistair gasped. "Maker above woman, don't do that again! I nearly died of shock!"

The mage lifted a brow and smiled sweetly, "As did I when I first came upon you two…writhing on each other."

Alistair felt himself blushing to the tips of his ears and he heard Brielle giggle nervously behind him. "We uh…Bree was umm…upset and I came out here to make sure she was alright," he said and it sounded lame to his own ears.

"Hmm…what an interesting comforting tactic you have," Wynne commented dryly.

"Yes….er…" he stammered. "Um….did you need something?"

"Arl Eamon is looking for you both. He sent me to fetch you in. The festivities may well last awhile into the night but he needs to speak to you about our next move."

Brielle cleared her throat and anxiously wiped the remaining wetness from her cheeks. She felt flush with desire and could taste Alistair on her kiss-swollen lips. She needed time to gain her famously steely composure. "Thank you, Wynne, for coming all the way out here. I shall go on up to the castle presently. I need to freshen up in my room before we meet the Arl. I'll see you both up there," she intoned hastily and brushed past Alistair, her footfalls barely making a sound as she ran down the dock. Alistair watched her go with a wistful smile.

"She was crying," Wynne stated and it irked Alistair that she said it with such confidence, like she knew all the secrets in the world.

"Umm…how do you know that? Can you see in the dark?" he mumbled, walking towards the elder mage.

Wynne smiled and simply said, "It has been building up inside of her since I first met her at Ostagar. I was expecting it sooner actually."

Alistair narrowed his eyes as she joined in step with her, walking back towards the rowdy sounds of the party. "What do you mean?"

"Despite the carefully crafted façade Brielle has adopted as the leader of our rag-tag band, occasionally those old wounds resurface. Watch her carefully the next time we battle against Darkspawn and you will see it. Her rage is quite magnificent."

"She lost everything...and she has never said anything about it before. I hadn't realized how skilled she is at hiding herself, her real self, from me," Alistair mused.

"Hiding herself? Isn't that what good rogues do?" Wynne said raising a silvered brow.

"Ha," Alistair smirked. "You know what I mean."

"Indeed. Though she is tough and cunning and brave, she is young, Alistair, younger than you and in some ways, much more sheltered than even you were. The life of a high-born noblewoman is a very confining cage. She probably possesses many skill sets that will surprise you."

Alistair scrubbed a hand through his hair and sighed, "Do you think there is anything I can do to make her feel better?"

Wynne came to a halt on the outskirts of the celebrations, watching with amused eyes as Zevran and Oghren danced sloppily on unsteady feet with serving wenches from the castle. She pondered Alistair's question for a moment and finally cast him a side glance, "Just love her. Continue traveling down this dark path with her, supporting her and fighting by her side, and seize those moments of love and laughter when you can. And in our travels, if you find the right merchant, I recommend you buy her a tin of chamomile tea."

"Tea?" Alistair chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest. "Not flowers or chocolates or fancy silks from Orlais?"

"Eleanor Cousland was famously stringent about observing afternoon tea with her family nearly every day. Irving often sent the Couslands boxes of his own special blends of tea for Wintertide. Brielle asked me recently if I had any tea in my traveling sack. She asked specifically for chamomile. Perhaps Lady Isolde has some in her pantry."

"I will ask her. Thank you, Wynne," Alistair grinned. "You always seem to have the answers to all my questions. It is rather amazing."

"You don't live to be my age without learning a thing or two," Wynne demurred. "Now shoo. The Arl and Bann Teagan are waiting for you in the Grand Hall."

Alistair grabbed her hand and bowed low, placing an over-exaggerated kiss on her knuckles. "As my wise lady mage commands, I shall go."

Wynne chuckled at his silly gesture but felt a faint blush creep into her aged cheeks. It had been a long time since anyone had teased her or treated her with such casual deference.

"Yes, please do," she smirked as he released her hand. With a wink, Alistair turned and walked with a renewed bounce in his step up the path to Redcliffe Castle.

- Finis-


	2. Starting with a Dance

A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.

~Rupert Brooke~

* * *

Fergus Cousland watched with a bittersweet smile as his little sister, Brielle, the newly crowned and married Warden Queen of Fereldan, danced with her handsome husband, King Alistair Theirin at their wedding feast.

_Mother and Father should have been here to see this moment. They would have been so proud..._

Once again he lifted his wine goblet for what seemed the hundredth time as yet another noble proposed a toast to the new king and queen's health and happiness.

_Oren should have been at the wedding serving as Master of the Ring and Oriana should have been Brielle's Chief Bridesmaid..._

He sampled delectable morsels of food without really tasting them. The wedding feast was the grandest, most lavish affair the nation had seen in decades. It had taken months to prepare the menu and an army of chefs and assistants to execute it. As a show of good will to the young couple, Empress Celene herself had sent a dozen Orlesian chefs to assist with the preparation of specialty foods and sweets just for the royal nuptials. Yet Fergus could hardly bring himself to look at or enjoy the food on his platter.

_If only I had died too, we would all be together..._

"You have no stomach, Your Grace?" a feminine voice inquired suddenly, cutting through his despair. Blinking, Fergus looked up to gaze upon the pretty face of one of Brielle's bridesmaids. He struggled to think of her name and furrowed his brow, completely drawing a blank. She did seem vaguely familiar somehow...

For a moment he said nothing and just stared at the lass, for she had the most unusual eyes... one green as lichen and one dusky violet that reminded him of sunset. And her hair was the palest shade of blond he had ever seen, springing in wild curls down her back and crowned with a delicate silver diadem Brielle had gifted all her bridal attendants.

"Teryn Fergus?" she prompted with a concerned tone.

"I'm alright," he finally managed to say and stood, remembering the manners that had been engrained into the fabric of his being since the cradle. "Forgive me, my lady, I was wool-gathering and you startled me."

"Of course, Your Grace. This has been a very exciting but long day for everyone," she said offering her hand, "In all the chaos of planning the wedding, I don't believe we were ever properly introduced. I am Arl Jaycent's daughter, Tasmin. I am Brie-I mean, Her Majesty's personal secretary."

Fergus' lips curled into a hint of a smile at her correction and took her hand formally, bending forward to brush his lips over the back of her knuckles. When he stood up, his mouth was tingling from the brief contact. How odd.

"Arl Jaycent? Yes, I think I remember you, at least I recognize your hair and your eyes. Your father brought you to Highever for Summertide for the Masked Ball. Maker, that was ages ago..."

"Twelve years, actually," Tasmin offered demurely.

Fergus grinned and released her hand, "But who is counting, hmm?"

She fidgeted with the skirts of the silken lavender gown she was wore and peered at him beneath lashes as white as her hair, "I was ten and it was the first trip Papa allowed me to accompany him on. I felt like a real lady doing important Arling business. Mama could not travel because she was pregnant with my brother so it was just the two of us. I remember you, Your Grace."

Fergus cocked an auburn brow, "Really?"

She smiled shyly and looked to the ground for a moment, "Yes. We danced a reel. I wouldn't expect you to remember though. We hardly said two words. You were very popular that night."

"Actually I do remember you. You were wearing a...kitten mask? It was cream-colored."

She eyes widened with surprise, "How did you-"

"Once I turned fifteen, my parents strongly encouraged my attendance at functions during the high season and they all started to blur one into another. But I'd never seen a mask like yours before, it was very unusual, like your eyes. I remember thinking you were a breath of fresh air, so young and sweet, compared to all the other noble daughters who regularly attended court events."

"I'm flattered, Your Grace. I always assumed you thought I was a silly child."

"I didnt think that at all. In fact, I recall being disappointed I didnt see you again."

"After the Summertide ball, I spent the rest of that visit in a rented cottage by the sea with my Nanny. She so loved the water. She was originally from Highever."

"And did you like the ocean?"

Her eyes lit up with pleasure and he could not stop from staring at her heart-shaped face. Fergus found himself fascinated by her dual-colored irises and how they shined with emotion as she continued, "Of course! I would have slept outside on the beach if Nanny hadn't dragged me inside every night. But I still remember Highever being the most beautiful castle I've ever seen high up on the cliffs," she said with a wistful smile and a faraway look.

_Covered in blood, death and betrayal. After all that has happened, Highever will never be beautiful again. You are going to die alone surrounded by ghosts..._

The dark thought snuck in so unexpectedly and gripped his heart that Fergus swayed, rocked by a wave of grief. He felt clammy and clenched a fist, leaning against the table. Before he could compose himself, he felt gentle hands ease him back into his chair. His vision seemed to crystallize all at once and suddenly Tasmin swam into focus. She was sitting next to him in a chair abandoned earlier by one of his retainers who'd bored quickly at his lack of conversation.

"You are unwell, Your Grace! I am going to call a servant over to attend you," she said quietly, but with the authority of someone who was used to taking charge. As she moved to stand, Fergus grabbed her hand and stopped her. She sat back down reluctantly with a frown.

"I assure you I am not ill, my lady, nor do I want to detract from the celebrations by having any undue attention called upon myself," he said, glancing across the Great Hall to where Brielle and Alistair were holding court with a group of laughing nobles.

Tasmin lifted a delicate brow, "Your sister sent me over to check on you, Your Grace, and I find you not eating, brooding alone and nearly falling into a swoon. If you are not ill, what shall I report back to her?"

Fergus sighed feeling suddenly weary and tired of the "Brother of the Bride" pretense he'd upheld since his arrival in Denerim for the wedding. "Inform Her Majesty that I'm dying from a broken heart and that being surrounded by all this wedding happiness is expediting the process."

"So you are not ill, but dying, then?" Tasmin said and bit her lower lip to remind herself to keep her tone light. _Dying of a broken heart._ Brielle had expressed concern that Fergus was wallowing in despair and from what she could tell, the Queen was correct. She had to tread carefully. "Alright. If that is the message you would like me to convey, I bid you farewell, Your Grace. If you could just relinquish your grip on my hand, I will leave you to your sadness."

Fergus felt a spark pass through his fingers like a jolt of magic as she attempted wriggle her hand from his grasp. Heat quickened his blood and he could hear his heart starting to beat an erratic tattoo in his chest. It was impossible, it couldn't be happening...and yet, he was _feeling _something he thought had died long ago...something he'd buried along with his wife and child. Somehow this fairy-eyed minx had cut though nearly two years of the bleak fog he had been existing in. He studied her carefully as her cheeks flushed a fetching shade of rose. She licked her lips and averted her gaze from his face. Ah, so she had felt that too.

Without really thinking of consequences and with the element of surprise on his side, Fergus tugged on her hand and pulled Tasmin squarely into his lap. She landed with a squeak.

"Before you leave me to my sadness and report to back to my meddling little sister, and yes you can tell the Queen I said "meddling little sister", there is just one thing, Lady Tasmin," Fergus murmured.

Recovering from the shock of Fergus' touch and being pressed up close to his body, Tasmin had trouble finding her voice, "Y-yes, Your Grace."

"Fergus. Call me Fergus."

"Of course, Your-er, um, Fergus," she replied, blushing even prettier than before.

"I think I figured out something that will lift my spirits."

"In-in-deed? That is good news. It would be a shame to ruin your handsome face by keeping it puckered up in perpetual sourness," the words had already poured out of Tasmin's mouth before she could stop them and she blanched at her lack of tact. His proximity was making her nervous.

Fergus' eyes flared amusement and he grinned, tipping her chin up with a finger, "You think I am handsome?"

"When you aren't sulking in the shadows, yes, you are more than passably handsome," she sniffed. Fergus' grin turned into a full-bodied laugh and he hugged Tasmin close.

"Thank the Maker you cannot control that saucy mouth of yours," he finally said when his chuckles subsided and pressed his forehead against hers. "Mayhaps I can."

And then he kissed her. Tenderly at first, gently, trying to maintain his gentleman's honor even as desire thrummed through his veins. But as her lips trembled beneath his and he felt her yield, he began to lose control and deepened the kiss. She tasted so right, so sweet. _And so different from Oriana._

_Different hair, different eyes, face, body, taste, laugh and smile…_

He should have felt guilty. He should have stopped kissing Tasmin right then and there. But thinking of Oriana did not cripple him like he thought it would. In fact, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to nibble Tasmin's lower lip and let his fingers tangle up into her wild curls. She was an innocent to be sure but she proved a quick study, much to his delight.

After several long, eternal moments of heated kissing, Fergus slowly gathered his wits as his senses started tingling with the awareness that they were not alone. Hesitantly, he broke contact with Tasmin's mouth and turned his head, already aware of who was standing on the other side of the feast table.

"Your Majesties," Fergus said with a nod of respect as he met his sister's brilliant aqua-colored eyes, the same Cousland shade as his own. He noted Alistair was grinning like the village idiot and Brielle looked like the cat that swallowed the cream. He could feel Tasmin trembling in his arms and he suddenly felt guilty for not being more discreet, for being caught kissing one of the queen's own ladies-in-waiting in full public view by the monarchs themselves. On his honor, he let Tasmin stand and he followed suit, smoothing out the front of his ceremonial jacket he'd had tailored just for this occasion. He noted that the entire, spacious room had grown eerily silent as most of the wedding guests had noticed who's table the King and Queen were standing in front of.

"Dear brother, we apologize for interrupting your deep...conversation," Brielle intoned with a practiced airiness that set his teeth on edge, "but I have come to retrieve my bridesmaid. It is time for the Dance of the Maidens which, as you know, begins the rest of the formal dance sets for the evening. Do you think you can spare Lady Tasmin for a few minutes?"

Fergus cleared his throat and tried to avoid the multitude of eyes that were now trained on him throughout the Great Hall. "Of course, _dear sister_, I wouldn't dream of impeding any of the festivities." As casually and coolly as he could muster, Fergus gave Tasmin a courtly bow which she quickly matched with a curtsy. "Lady Tasmin, I have been unforgivably rude delaying you from your wedding duties. Please let me make it up to you. Do you think…unless you are otherwise engaged, would you do me the honor of saving the last dance of the evening for me?"

Tasmin, who had been standing pale and still as a statue, gazed up at him with her big fairy eyes. She had gone chalk white with embarrassment as they stood before the king and queen, but a bit of color was returning to her cheeks and she squared her shoulders back. Fergus' lip curled into a smile. She was a resilient little thing, to be sure. He liked that.

"Of course, Your Grace. It would please me very much to share the last dance with you," she finally demurred.

"Excellent!" King Alistair shouted and a round of applause broke out across the Hall. "Music! Dancers! Why did it get so quiet in here? Someone start the bloody dancing already."

At the King's command, the wedding feast suddenly sprung back to life as guests resumed eating, drinking, conversing and preparing for the upcoming series of traditional wedding dances. With a whisper of silk, Tasmin slipped away from his side and blended into a throng of dancers on the other side of the room. Fergus knew his sister was watching him carefully so he trained his gaze squarely on her, clamping down on the crazy urge to chase after Tasmin.

Little flecks of light sparkled off the jewels in his sister's queenly golden crown, which in turn highlighted the rich caramel highlights in her deep auburn hair. She tipped her head to the side and gave him a mischievous grin, "Feel better?"

Fergus groaned and rolled his eyes. If the ground would only just open up and swallow him whole at this moment, he would be blessed by the Maker for sure. "I _feel_ like you had something to do with this," he finally said.

Brielle clucked her tongue which reminded him of their mother, "Me? I merely requested she check on you before your brooding scared all the guests away."

"She is too young for me, Bree," Fergus snapped.

"You are hardly an old man, Fergus. You're just over thirty," Alistair rebutted.

"I've obviously lost my sanity if we are really having the conversation," Fergus smirked and turned to walk away.

"We just want you to be happy, Fergus!" His sister said quickly with a hint of desperation. He stopped. "She is a good girl with a strong and loyal Fereldanese lineage and we favor her greatly. She saved my life once."

That was the last thing in the world he'd expected his sister to say and he twirled around to face the royal couple, "What? When?"

"During the Blight. We were bringing the pinch of Andraste's Ashes back to Redcliffe to heal Arl Eamon. We were all wounded and weary from fighting through the mountains, and I was nearly delirious with exhaustion. We came across a caravan being attacked by bandits and we put together an ambush. It pains me to admit I was not fighting at my best that day, and I grew careless. A bandit rogue flanked me on the other side of a bush and I did not know he was there as I was dispatching three other bandits at that moment. Tasmin burst out the back of a wagon nearby like a rabid fox and was wielding a sword. Her appearance caught everyone in the vicinity off guard and that gave her enough time to run the bandit rogue through the belly."

"Tasmin…that little slip of a woman, killed a bandit with a sword?" Fergus said with begrudging respect.

His sister nodded, "Indeed. She was quite brave considering she had very rudimentary combat training. She barely knew how to hold the bloody weapon let alone use it."

"But what was an Arl's daughter doing traveling in a caravan so far from her father's lands?"

Alistair removed his crown and raked his fingers through his cropped hair, "I believe Arl Jaycent sent her and her brother to Redcliffe for safety. After we fought off the undead horde and purged the Desire demon from Connor's soul, it was safer in Redcliffe than Jaycent's own lands in the north considering that they were swarming with darkspawn AND Arl Howe's men."

Fergus let his gaze travel the length of the Hall, searching out Tasmin's shining, platinum curls. He thought he spotted her but she quickly blended back into a throng of dancers. "Then thank the Maker was watching all of you that day," he finally murmured, giving his sister a small smile. "But enough talk of dark days past. I'm trying to get out of the habit of thinking about the past. Shall we go join your loyal subjects in celebrating your marriage?"

"We can and we shall, if only because I think all of those loyal subjects are now waiting in abject anticipation for handsome but haunted widower, Teyrn Fergus to dance with the queen's pretty bridesmaid, Lady Tasmin. I know I am," Brielle said smiled sweetly and winked at him.

Fergus sighed and navigated around the dais to join the king and queen. "It's just a dance, Brielle."

"And would you call what you were doing to Lady Tasmin a few minutes ago, 'Just a kiss?'"

Crossing his arms over his chest, Fergus gave his sister a side-long glance, "It was merely a romantic moment between a gentleman and a beautiful lady that happened to occur in front of the entire Bannorn, landed gentry, foreign dignitaries, Grey Wardens, elves, dwarves and palace servants at the grandest event in recent Fereldanese history." He paused for a moment and exhaled. "Maker's Breath…I'm going to have to marry her now, aren't I?"

Alistair chuckled and placed his crown back atop his head. "I'm just a king's bastard who was raised in the Chantry as far away from the royal court as possible and even I know enough about noble decorum to know that."

Brielle leaned over and on tip-toe, kissed her brother on the cheek, "Start with a dance and go from there."

"And end with another wedding?" Fergus added for her.

"It ends happily, with a Cousland child, or children to fill up Highever to chase the shadows away," Brielle murmured and he could hear the echo of pain and loss in her voice. "A Cousland always does their duty, isn't that right, Your Grace?"

Fergus got the message. He was trying to be upset, annoyed or angry at his little sister for her uncanny ability to meddle in his life, for manipulating the situation to the outcome she desired like she did when they were young, or for just simply daring to interfere with his grieving process. Yet try as he might, he could not summon the energy or the emotion to be cross with her. It did not feel right…for he strangely felt happier than he had in years and focused on the possibilities that now lay before him.

Duty meant marriage. Marriage meant children. Somehow the thought of performing those particular duties did not seem the chore it once did. In fact, he rather looked forward to seeing where courting Lady Tasmin would take him.

"I suppose I can start with a dance," he agreed before stepping forward into the reveling crowd, keeping his eyes open for the platinum-haired girl wearing a shimmering lavender dress.

- Finis-


End file.
